Before you roll out the chips and salsa, it ain’t that kind of Fiesta, my love.
We begin this year’s National Blog Post Month with tributes to the vehicles in my life. Why? Because.
Leave us go back to the first. His name was Harold. Why? Because.
This is probably the upgraded version of my Harold, a Ford Fiesta. Where this one has a sunroof, mine had no radio (but an antenna), the driver’s door didn’t lock and the window wouldn’t roll up all the way, and the shift pattern was backward to the US (Ford body but German engine? Weird, sorta).
What had happened was, my dad and I scoured the local free paper for a first car for me. There was an ad for a 1980 Fiesta for $500. It was the color of the one above, but I got it repainted in a dark Ford blue with specks and a white racing stripe. The muffler went and Dad and I found a replacement at the junkyard. My mom didn’t want us to come in the house without stripping in the garage; the junkyard had been muddy and we’d both been on the ground to cut the necessary length of pipe and muffler off. We then took over the front driveway to cut off the broken one and affect repairs. Great times!
The best experience ever in Harold: my mom and I drove to New Brunswick (NJ) for something … can’t remember those specifics just now. However, on the way home, we had a blowout. It was dark and we were on the NJ Parkway. Of course, I had no flashlight. I got the car to the shoulder and was going to walk a mile or so to the police barracks (they dot the length of the Parkway); Mom was horrified and convinced I would die in the dark (hit by a car or eaten by the Jersey Devil is anyone’s guess). I made it about 500 feet and an officer pulled up behind me. He not only drove me back to Harold and my mom (by going backward along the shoulder) but allowed me to hold his flashlight while he changed the tire for me. Good ol’ days.
My heart broke when my dad sold Harold during my first years in college. However, I fell more in love with the next car in my life.
Tomorrow, my Asian Norse horse …